


Into the Fae

by SomeFrenchWhore



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Fae & Fairies, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keitor Secret Santa 2018, Lotor is a tease, Lotor knows everything, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Possessive Behavior, Self preservation? I don't know her?, Semi-Public Sex, Slight dubcon due to magic? But Keith's into it so not really, keith has no chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeFrenchWhore/pseuds/SomeFrenchWhore
Summary: Keith thought he knew exactly what he was getting into when he began hunting for the fae. He planned for everything. He only missed one important detail; he wasn't the hunter in this scenario.





	Into the Fae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/gifts).



> Hello!!! I was assigned something involving a masquerade ball, perhaps with spooky themes, and I loved the prompt so much that it got wildly out of hand and ended up taking 3 months to write. I'm terribly sorry, giftee. Happy Valentine's Day, I suppose? Hahaaa

Keith is not one for routine. He’s only taking the train this morning because he recently wrecked his motorcycle, and he has more important things to do than spend a few days fixing it. Leaving the trail he’s been tracking for years now could cause it to go cold by the time he returns, especially since his targets aren’t known for their predictability.

He has that in common with Them. As he looks out the bus windows, he’s sure he’s never even been on this route before. The view of the city he grew up in is familiar, certainly, but not from this angle.

So, why does he have the strong feeling that he’s been here before? Deja vu settles in his bones like the cold does on those dreary January mornings when he forgets to check the weather and ends up slogging through the snow in a wildly impractical cropped jacket.

Parsing through this feeling like a puzzle, he begins trying to narrow down possible explanations. It can’t be the train itself that’s affecting him, so it must be the people riding it. Many of them are bored-looking, briefcase-toting business people, as one might expect from an early-morning train on a weekday. Keith invents questions as his attention flits from person to person. Did he go to school with that young lady in the pantsuit? Probably not. Did he sleep with that tall, dark, and handsome man in the second row? No, only wishful thinking. He continues scanning from his vantage point standing in the aisle, one hand holding on to the hanging handles, and finally, one man draws his eye like a magnet. He doesn’t quite belong, but Keith can’t place why. His silver hair mismatches his youthful face, but with recent trends, that isn’t all that surprising. He’s gorgeous, but so is that man from the second row, so that can’t be it. His attention isn’t taken up by a phone in his hand, which is a little unusual, but Keith isn’t on his phone either. Keith keeps staring, mystified, pawing through his own memory. Where does he know him from?

As he tries to answer the question, the mysterious man looks up and Keith, realizing a beat too late that he’s been caught staring, glances away awkwardly. Conveniently, the train stops just then, and he shuffles to the side to let people pass him on their way to the door right next to him. Keith surreptitiously eyes everyone who gets off, because if his mystery man gets off here, he can follow, but to no avail.

And yet, when he looks back to the seat where the root of his deja vu was, it’s empty.

 

~~~~~

 

Days later, Keith is picking his way through the woods on the edge of town. It’s not a day trip for his health, more of a hunting trip- but he isn’t after ducks or rabbits. He’s looking for beings who, according to all sources, cannot be found unless they find you first. He’s hoping that he might, perhaps, be able to find them by simply being half clever and very persistent. 

Most, if not all, books and sources pertaining to his targets include advice on how to avoid them. Do not talk about them in direct terms; use only things like wee folk, fair folk, or good neighbors. Hang primroses, marigolds, and St. John’s Wort to keep them out of mills, houses, and barns, in that order. If you must walk in the forest, stay on well-trodden paths, lest you let yourself be led astray by one of Them. If you find a ring of mushrooms or wildflowers in a perfect circle, do not, under any circumstances, step into it.

Ever a contrarian, Keith talked about the fae to the point of alienating most of his friends, and had weeded most of the wildflowers out of his yard just in case the plants were accidentally repelling Them. He hardly even locked his doors anymore.

The only thing he hadn’t yet done to attract their attention was disturb a fairy ring, and the only way to do that was to find one. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. At the moment, all he seems to be doing is sweating in the summer heat, but he’s not about to quit now. He still has daylight on his side. The fae are ostensibly most active at twilight, so if it passes with no leads, he’s got a compass and plenty of experience finding his way home.

As the sun begins to set, he pauses to take a water bottle out of his backpack, and resumes walking as he drinks from it. Unfortunately, being distracted while the already-minimal light is fading this fast means that he can’t tell the difference between a bed of leaves and a hunter’s trap covered in leaves. His next step meets a flimsy net with a hole beneath it instead of solid ground. All at once, he’s falling, and his hands fly up in an attempt to catch himself.

A strong hand wraps around his left wrist and pulls him back to solid ground. It’s better than falling, but no less alarming, considering he’d been walking alone. Keith’s head whips around to find out who had saved him, hands curling into fists on reflex.

He’s met with a familiar face; it’s the mystery man from the train. They’re far enough from any established trails that there’s no reason anyone should be here. A million questions stampede to the tip of Keith’s tongue, but before any of them can make it past his lips, the other speaks up. 

“Be careful.” The words are a sugar-coated threat, heavy with the implication that he isn’t referring to the hunter’s trap, and they should probably inspire more questions in Keith, but he’s forgotten how to speak entirely. The mystery man’s voice is smoother than expensive bourbon and twice as intoxicating. The other leans in as if to kiss him, and somehow, despite knowing nothing about this man, Keith has never wanted anything more.

He wakes up at his own front door, with no memory of the journey back.

 

~~~~~

 

Most people would be spooked by an experience like that. Most people would probably drop the search entirely. Most people would avoid the deep dark forest, and perhaps the train, too. Most people probably wouldn’t find themselves bolting awake, uncomfortably warm in more ways than they care to admit, after a recurring dream involving a man that may or may not have kidnapped them.

Keith isn’t most people.

If searching for the fae was a hobby before, it’s an obsession now.

He isn’t dumb enough to believe that a being like the one he encountered is predictable, so he doesn’t bother to return to the same train or the same spot in the woods, but he does, however, venture to dozens of other places in the woods. 

Unfortunately, when it comes down to it, all the places he searches turn out to be perfectly average patches of forest, so he figures he must resort to desperate measures. The last time he saw his mystery man, he was about to fall into a very dangerous hole. 

So, Keith starts to leave his windows open at night. He takes the train whenever he needs to go anywhere, even after he fixes his bike. He walks under ladders and hops over open manholes. He nearly gets himself arrested for treating a local construction site like a playground.

None of it works. He isn’t exactly shocked that relying on superstition didn’t immediately conjure a handsome fae, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. 

Finally, he decides to take a night off from the hunt and do something he loves. Whenever he has a problem that can’t be solved, zooming out into the countryside to stargaze tends to offer the kind of spontaneous insight that he can’t explain. It’s been too long since he’s escaped the glare of the city lights, anyway.

He walks into his cramped garage, a bag on his back and a less-than-half-baked plan in his mind. He opens the door and straddles his bike, but just before he starts it, a shiver dances up his spine. It’s a cozy summer night; he doesn’t need to look around to know that it wasn’t the weather. He’s not alone. “Hello?” He calls out. He steps off his bike and looks over his shoulder, and when Keith faces forward again, there He is, standing on the other side of the motorcycle.

“Where are you going?” The mystery man tilts his head, his hair seeming to catch the moonlight and hold it like fireflies in a frosted-glass jar.

“Nowhere.” Keith’s answer is not defensive, nor is it untrue; he really is going nowhere specific.

“Without an invitation? How bold.” He smiles, coy.

“Didn’t think I needed one.” Keith shoots back, and keeps a careful hold on his wits, remembering the last time they met. “What about you? Where are you going?” He steals a glance at the stranger’s body, telling himself he’s simply checking the other’s attire for clues-- but Keith doesn’t even believe himself. The mysterious intruder is well dressed, his gauzy white shirt accompanied by an embroidered suit jacket and a royal purple cummerbund.

“A party.” He answers, cryptically. “Would you like to come?”

Keith thinks about it for exactly zero seconds before answering. “Yes.”

“Unfortunately, darling, I can’t give you an invite for free.” He trails off with a smirk, as if he knows what Keith will say before Keith does.

The human’s eyebrows furrow, curious and confused. Keith is knee-deep in quicksand and he knows it, but he refuses to stop digging himself deeper. “What does it cost?”

“Just yourself. The one throwing it is rather particular about his guest list. You’d be mine for the night… a plus-one, of sorts.”

Something prods at Keith from the back of his mind. “Tell me your name first.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” He marvels, and begins to walk around the motorcycle between them, ever so slowly. “It’s Lotor. Do not misuse it, unless you’d like to be mine for more than a night. Agreed?”

Keith isn’t one for poetry books, but if he was, he might have the right words to describe the way Lotor walks. The taller man puts out a hand for him to shake as he approaches, and Keith has already forgotten what the terms were when he shakes it. “Deal.”

“Beautiful.” Lotor hums, the word reverberating in the air like a note played on a harp, and keeps his hand after shaking it. “Let’s go, then, shall we?”

 

~~~~~

 

Keith doesn’t go to a whole lot of parties. He can count his close friends on one hand, and they generally celebrate their birthdays with simple things like pizza and laser tag. 

As such, when he finds himself in a circular, Roman-style pavilion that belongs in a historical movie, wearing a well-tailored suit he probably can’t afford, he feels a little out of place. There is a marble wall on the opposite side from his place on the edge, but it only covers a third of the circumference; the rest of the perimeter is made up of ornate pillars, beyond which lies a picture-perfect forest view. Whimsical instrumental music floats through the party, and it sounds close, like there are real instruments producing it instead of a modern speaker, but he can’t see the band. As he looks around, he does, however, notice how flattering the light is, as if it’s that romantic moment just before sunset. Or is it the candlelit chandeliers producing that effect? What time is it? Wasn’t he about to go stargazing?

“Hello, darling.” A low feminine voice interrupts his thoughts, and his attention is taken by a tall lady with two-toned purple hair and a smooth navy blue mask over her eyes. “Are you lost?” She smiles sweetly, but the eerie feeling in his gut won’t let him trust her concern at all.

“No, I’m fine.” He lies. “Just looking for my date.” Without waiting for another word, he turns on his heel and walks away. It might have come off as a little rude, but he doesn’t care. He does have to find his date, actually; that wasn’t a lie. The masks everyone seems to be wearing won’t make that any easier, but he knows who he’s looking for. Keith can’t quite recall his date’s name, and he isn’t sure where the mask on his own face came from, but he knows that when he finds the one he came here for, everything will fall into place.

 

~~~~~

 

Everything is falling into place quite nicely. Lotor watches from the center of the circular pavilion as his consort wakes up. He seems confused, like they all do, but the first thing Lotor notices is the distinct lack of fear in his demeanor. The human hasn’t a clue where he is, but he isn’t intimidated by that at all. Rather, he seems more puzzled by his outfit than the teleportation that just occurred. Even better, when a random guest interacts with him, he brushes her off with no pretenses. Clearly, Lotor’s spell is working; the human knows who he belongs to. It isn’t working quite well enough to draw him in the right direction, though, and Lotor’s eyes narrow slightly as his prey walks along the circumference of the party instead. This one is strong-willed. It’s part of the reason his human was chosen in the first place, but it’s still frustrating.

So, he moves to meet him halfway, taking two glasses of wine from one of the many tables in the center. As he approaches, the human sees Lotor first, pauses for a moment, and then stops, turning to face him. After agreeing to be his, most humans would be begging for his attention by now, hanging around his shoulders like an accessory, but not this one. This one tilts his head and all but tears Lotor’s shirt with his eyes, but resolutely does not move. “Thirsty?” Lotor offers him one of the glasses and a welcoming smile. His consort will have to stay forever if he drinks anything here, and considering all the attention this human been drawing to himself by actively looking for the fae, he probably knows that.

So, it’s no surprise when he refuses. “No.” He contradicts himself by swallowing, though, and Lotor gets the feeling that his consort is a little less indifferent than he’ll admit.

Humming curiously, Lotor pauses to set down the glasses on a nearby stand meant for decorative flowers and returns his full attention to his human. “Not for wine, I suppose. Tell me the truth.”

To most humans, an imperative from the fae they are promised to is paramount. This one pauses before answering, hedges. “Well.” He fidgets, as if he can physically feel Lotor’s magic nudging his free will further into the background, and crosses his arms as if to push back. “I don’t drink wine.”

That wasn’t the question. Lotor should be frustrated that he won’t give in, that his magic isn’t reshaping this human to suit his desires, but in a way, he’s thrilled. This is the first time in a long, long time-- perhaps the first time ever-- that a human has shut him out for this long. “Then what would please you, darling?”

This man has no idea how unusual it is for a fae to bother asking their prey for their opinions; he seems more flustered by the pet name than anything, cheeks lighting up a lovely pink under the bottom edge of his mask. “Lotor. I need to find him.” 

Lotor’s world stops. He isn’t even supposed to know that. Granted, the Prince did tell the human his name, but after being teleported to the world of the fae, the other should hardly be able to recall his own name. “Is that so.” Now, the consort is not a game; he is an adversary. Lotor cannot let him use his name to gain the upper hand. So, he cannot waste any more time playing cat and mouse. “May I keep you entertained until you do find him?” He leans in and places a hand delicately on the petite human’s waist.

 

~~~~~

 

This beautiful stranger’s questions bring Keith an epiphany. He has to be with Lotor. That’s why he’s here.

And yet, Keith can’t quite bring himself to care about that mission. At the moment, he’s sure that nothing has ever felt as good as this tall stranger’s touch, and half sure that nothing ever will. “Yes,” he nods, reaching out to pull him closer by the lapels of his gorgeous tailcoat. The stranger lets him, and keeps that momentum until Keith’s back is pressed against the wall. “Keep me.”

 

~~~~~

 

What a beautifully convenient word to forget. “I just might.” Lotor grins and finally leans in to kiss him. The human leans into it eagerly, and the Prince raises a hand to rest it on his neck, a caress and a warning. He is so much smaller, more fragile, and more mortal than he realizes, Lotor marvels, and yet, so blissfully unaware. 

His consort moans at the hand on his throat, his warm hands inviting themselves into the Prince’s jacket to unbutton his waistcoat, and Lotor is so surprised at his boldness that half of the party decorations, glamoured in to make the party seem grander, flicker like candle flames. The human doesn’t even notice; he couldn’t care less about what is or is not here. He has what he wants.

That is, until Lotor snatches his wrists and pins them above his head. “Patience, my dear,” he purrs. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” The human begins to whine, but is interrupted by another kiss, so he settles for fidgeting in Lotor’s grasp. The Prince nips his lower lip as if to reprimand him, and feels his own heart race as he’s rewarded with an unexpected moan. Clearly, there’s no reason to treat this human like glass. 

Lotor kisses and bites until his consort is breathless, and gives his neck the same treatment, savoring him.

“I can’t-” he begins to speak, but the faerie bites his neck a little harder, turning the syllable into a shuddered, “Oh, god.”

“Don’t say a word,” Lotor whispers cautiously into his human’s ear, as if he himself isn’t the danger here. “You’ll break the spell.” Lotor is banking on the other taking his word for it, and although he hesitates, opening and closing his mouth a couple times, it seems to work. It’s not entirely a lie, anyway; if the human says his name, Lotor won’t be able to keep the glamour spell going, not that the setting actually matters.

His consort has forgotten all about them, judging by the look in his eyes. He can’t plead with words, but he doesn’t need to when every bit of his body language is demanding more. Lotor is happy to oblige, and lets go of his wrists to pull his shirt open, buttons popping off and bouncing on the shiny marble floors. The human shudders, not with fear, and Lotor can literally see the effect this rough treatment is having on him when he lowers his eyes to finish pulling off every layer keeping his prize from him. “Beautiful,” he praises as he goes, trailing kisses down his consort’s naked chest and abdomen. “My darling, my heart… tell me your name.”

 

~~~~~

 

The further he goes, the harder Keith finds it to push back against the cloudy feeling trying to take over his mind. He can’t tell anymore if it’s evil magic, lust, or some unholy blend of both, and worse, he can’t bring himself to care which it is.

So, when he looks down at the breathtaking stranger on his knees in front of him, still wearing an intricate purple and gold mask, pretty lips kissing his hips and asking just one little thing, he blurts it out before thinking. “Keith.” He says nothing else, though, because he was told not to say a word, and obeying him is of utmost importance.

The other moans, almost a purr, and grins up at him. “Good, Keith.” Just hearing his name on the other’s silver tongue makes Keith shudder and grip the column behind him for support. He’s weak in the knees, and has butterflies in his head-- yes, he knows they’re supposed to be in his stomach, but they didn’t seem to get the memo. He whimpers, pleading to hear his name again, but the other stands up instead. 

 

~~~~~

 

Lotor has other plans for him. Teasing his real name out of him worked perfectly; a full name would be better, but he can work with just one. Keith already invited him to “keep him,” after all. Lotor is so close to sealing the deal, in fact, that he figures he might as well have a bit of fun with him, first. The human is certainly willing.

So, the Prince manhandles his consort a bit, gripping Keith by the hips to turn him around, and gives him a little push so that he has no other option but to catch himself on the wide stone pillar. Keith turns to give him an almost rebellious look, and Lotor digs his fingers into his hips just hard enough to leave pink crescents where his nails were. Rather than complaining about the pain, the human lets out a badly-muffled whimper of pleasure and pushes his hips back, still begging without saying a word.

Lotor knows humans very well by now. He knows he can’t give Keith what he wants right away without breaking him, and he doesn’t make a habit of breaking his toys the same day he gets them. So, he curls one hand around the human’s face and puts two fingers to his lips first. “Go on, you know what to do.”

It’s more a guess than anything, but Keith proves him right immediately. He leans in to suck and lick Lotor’s fingers like his life depends on it, and his enthusiasm leaves them well-slicked within seconds. Lotor pulls them away, ignoring Keith’s almost disappointed pout when he does, and uses his other hand to push gently at his back, molding him like clay into a perfect arch. Finally, his slicked fingers slip between Keith’s legs, and he takes his sweet time rubbing and circling his hole. 

By the time Lotor pushes one finger into him, the poor boy is so eager he nearly sobs with relief. The Prince had intended to take it slow, but his consort pushes back to take more, so he adds a second finger almost immediately. Keith breathes heavy, but shows no signs of pain. Whether it’s because of experience or stubbornness, Lotor can’t be sure, but either way, he needs something better than spit. Using his free hand to cover Keith’s eyes, he curls his fingers to distract him, and uses magic to bend the distance between them and the tables in the center. 

Fae parties end in orgies often, if not always, so there are small golden decanters of natural oils meant for exactly this purpose interspersed with the food and wine. He moves his hand away from Keith’s eyes to take one, and the table moves back to where it should be.

 

~~~~~

 

Keith is mystified, so much so that he’s nearly shaken loose from the spell. He stands up a bit straighter to stare at the table that was just next to him and is now across the room, but his nameless lover demands his attention back by adding another finger. “Keith, focus on me. You are promised to me. You are mine.” With each sentence, he curls his fingers, and Keith melts back into the moment, spine arching and hips twitching as if his body can’t decide what it wants. 

The beautiful man solves that problem by ordering him to stay, and pulls his fingers out for a moment. Keith feels more vulnerable than ever, bent against a pillar with something slippery dripping out of his ass, not to mention the masquerade guests still milling about. 

None of them seem alarmed, scandalized, or even surprised to see a completely naked man being slowly taken apart by a fully dressed one with magic hands, and it vaguely occurs to Keith that that isn’t normal. These probably aren’t people at all, come to think of it. It was a fae that brought him here, wasn’t it? Lotor. Come to think of it, his mystery man’s voice is unmistakable. The masked man behind him is his date. He has found Lotor already, and the crafty fae convinced him that it was a distraction.

It’s quite a revelation, and the longer Lotor goes without touching him, the more anxious he feels. He isn’t supposed to be here, but at the same time, it’s too late to go back. He belongs to Lotor. If he’s being perfectly honest, he doesn’t want to go back. He wants his date to finish what they’ve started, and, growing bolder, he speaks his mind. “Are you going to fuck me eventually, or play with me all night?”

 

~~~~~

 

Lotor can feel his control slipping as Keith looks around, and curses under his breath as he quickly goes about freeing his own cock. He shouldn’t have let his new consort see magic happen so blatantly; now he is almost entirely detached from Lotor’s spell, and getting mouthy. “Know your place, pet.” He warns, not cruelly, but not quite sweetly, either. “If I want to play with you all night, I will.” Keith huffs, dismayed, and then gasps sharply when Lotor leans in to tease him, rubbing his length between his cheeks slowly, patiently. “I wonder how long I’d have to wait until you’re begging instead of demanding it.”

Keith refuses to say a word, but he knows Lotor wouldn’t have to wait long. Patience is not his strong suit. The question is apparently not as hypothetical as he thought it was, though, because Lotor doesn’t stop teasing him, hands wandering up to his neck and back down his spine. He whines and fidgets, pushing back against him, but then, the other plays his ace.

“Keith,” a million whispers seem to echo in Keith’s head when Lotor says his name, and he can feel them pulling him back down. “Beg to be claimed. You know who you belong to.”

God, he’s right. Keith has never wanted anything more, actually. “You,” Keith closes his eyes as the word falls from his lips. “I’m yours tonight, just take me, I want to feel you make me yours. I want you to fuck me, now, right now.” he pauses, unsure. That’s all he wants. What else can he say?

Lotor feels no need to let him squirm any longer. Keith is slick, stretched, and desperate enough that the Prince doesn’t bother to give much warning besides, “Good, pet.” before pushing into him. The human moans loudly, and Lotor has to pause and take a deep breath, working to keep his composure. He doesn’t stay still for long. As much as he loves teasing, they’ve both waited long enough. He holds Keith’s hips in place as he begins to move, watching the perfect slide where they’re joined.

Keith shudders under his touch, eyes rolling back, and feels his arms shake as he fights to hold himself up. He’s never been religious, but Lotor pushing into him feels like heaven and hell all at once, too much and not enough, and he’s praying for it to never stop. 

Luckily for him, mercy isn’t in Lotor’s repertoire. He breaks his patient rhythm with a few quick, powerful thrusts, then pushes in and pauses there for a slow, deep grind, overwhelming the poor human. It seems his pet has forgotten how to breathe, but that’s not his problem; if anything, it’s everything he wants. So, before he catches his breath, Lotor resumes moving, rolling into him fluidly. One hand releases his hip to trace its way up his abdomen, pulling Keith up against his own torso, and his pet moans, both hands dropping away from the wall without a fight.

Trusting masked men you’ve just met is a bad idea, especially when they’re not quite human, but Keith is too far gone to care. Lotor has him. Lotor would never let him fall. He’s sure of it. Even if he wasn’t, self-preservation is low on his priorities at the moment; more importantly, he needs more. With his Prince’s strong hands on his hip and chest, he can’t move to take it for himself. All he can do is ask. “Please,” he gasps, his hands grasping Lotor’s wrists in an effort to ground himself. “I need- harder.” 

Lotor grins. He’s definitely chosen his new pet well, and if Keith is going to stay with him, he’s going to spoil the boy as much as he wants, so he obliges almost immediately. The fae moves the hand on Keith’s hip up to his slim waist, grips hard, and pulls him back with an audible slap. The human all but sobs with ecstasy and, within minutes, begins to stammer as if trying to warn him, but Lotor doesn’t need to hear him to know he’s close. Keith’s thighs are shaking, his abs heaving as he gasps, and his moans are loud enough that they’ve drawn an audience of amused faeries. “Hush.” He orders, “and wait.”

Keith whimpers, disobeying the first half, but he obeys the rest. High on power, Lotor licks his lips and moves his hands to Keith’s thighs, lifting him off the ground entirely. Off balance, the human has no choice but to lean back against him, and reaches up to tangle his hands into the fae’s silky hair, gripping a little harder than necessary. The pain only spurs Lotor on, bouncing him on his cock fast and rough.

Just when it feels like Keith can’t hold on any more, Lotor leans in to speak in his ear, a low whisper only for him. “Now… Come, Keith.” If hearing his name made him dizzy before, now it feels like six shots of whiskey hitting him at once, and Keith’s vision goes hazy as he comes untouched, painting the pillar in front of him with his seed.

Moments later, Lotor drops Keith until he can’t go any deeper and stops there, fingers digging into the human’s thighs as he falls into ecstasy as well. The Prince is quiet, but his body gives a shudder Keith can feel in his own ribs, and his eyes roll as he rides Lotor’s high like it’s his own, luxuriating in the feeling of being filled, being claimed. They both lose track of time for a moment, savoring the floating feeling taking over, but Lotor doesn’t stay still for long. He gently moves Keith higher, pulling out, and walks a few paces to lay him on one of the tables in the center, facedown. There’s no point in having any shame when half the guests were watching anyway. He knows the human won’t be able to stand.

Keith melts into the firm surface. His hands grip the velvety tablecloth beneath him. Soft. He can feel warmth dripping down his thighs. Something hazily reminds him that there are people nearby. He should probably be ashamed… but he isn’t. Lotor is still close. Lotor will protect him.

The Prince proves him right moments later, laying his jacket over his pet and brushing a few pieces of long hair away from Keith’s overheated face.

“Yes… that’s good.” Keith mumbles, still recovering. He’s already warm, but he wants the weight and comfort provided by the jacket. A pause to catch his breath, and then he smiles up at Lotor. “And that was really good.”

“Oh, darling,” Lotor smiles back. “You say that like I’m done with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment if you noticed any mistakes or inconsistencies! This story was reread by me a dozen times, but not beta'd by anybody else. Also comment if you liked it. Or hated it. Please feed me.


End file.
